Office Conversations
by asesina
Summary: Brief, open-ended oneshot. Wilson gets House to open up about a difficult case, even if it's just this once.


Office Conversations by asesina

disclaimer: I don't own House

summary: Wilson gets House to open up about a difficult case. A little.

This is a very brief one shot. The rest of House and Wilson's conversation is not transcribed but is rather implied because I wanted it to be a sort of an open ended snapshot instead of an entire conversation.

I hope you like it.

-0-

House reclined in his office chair, turning carefully as he lifted his right leg and rested it gingerly on his desk.

It had been a long day, and the excruciating pain his his thigh did little to distract him from his thoughts.

House reached for his red stress ball and rolled it across a pile of unfinished paperwork that Cuddy had unceremoniously dropped on his desk earlier that morning. He exhaled slowly and tapped the ball back and forth with a lazy forefinger as he trained his eyes on a particularly uninteresting spot on the wall.

House had worked himself into a fairly deep trance when he heard the glass office door swing open and bang shut with a dull echo a moment later.

He lifted his gaze and locked eyes with Wilson, who appeared to be distracted and out of sorts.

"Can I help you?" House asked quickly, glaring suspiciously at Wilson as he pulled his leg off his desk with some effort.

"I just heard about your patient. Do you really think that she has HIV?" Wilson inquired in a deliberate, measured voice.

"Don't use that tone with me. I know you just came by because one of my little narcs told you about my 'meltdown'," House snapped.

Wilson sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"House, if you want to talk about it-," he began earnestly, eyes imploring House to give him a chance.

"It's fine. _I'm_ fine," House said dismissively.

"No, you're not. You're essentially giving up on your patient because you don't want to believe that she has an incurable disease. You would usually accept that you're right about her diagnosis, prescribe the medicine, and move on. You're ignoring the symptoms and doubting yourself this time because you _want_ her to live," Wilson said quietly, examining House's face for any sign of a reaction.

"Everyone's my therapist today," House replied bitterly. He cracked a knuckle and turned his gaze away from Wilson.

"There's nothing wrong with _caring_, but it's not like you to ignore the facts in favor of hope and sentimentality. It would be an expected reaction from a normal doctor, but, frankly, it's worrying when it's coming from _you_," Wilson admitted.

"I haven't gone soft, Wilson. I just think that my team jumped to conclusions when they suggested HIV," he said softly.

"The signs all point to HIV, House. You have to treat for the symptoms that are present," Wilson said.

"I just needed time to think about it. I'm sure that something else will come to me," House said quickly. He turned his attention back to the ball and rolled it carefully over his knuckles before letting it drop to the desk.

"House, you've had three patients die in the past month. That has to be hard, even for _you_," Wilson noted with a slight frown. He stepped closer to House's desk and took a seat in the chair closest the diagnostician.

"Enough with the mothering, Wilson. If I want to open up about my feelings, I'll lie down on the couch and cry my eyes out while you tell me how my mother didn't love me," House said angrily. He swiveled in the padded office chair, frowning as he continuously tapped the red ball back and forth.

"House-," Wilson began. He opened his mouth for a moment but promptly pressed his lips into a thin line when he saw House's somber expression.

"This is getting to you, House. For some reason, this case is different. If you don't want to talk about _why_ it's different, that's fine. I still think that you should talk about it," Wilson suggested gently.

"You're right," House said quietly.

Wilson's eyes widened in shock.

"I'm _right_?" he asked incredulously.

House nodded slowly as he reclined a little in his seat.

"I don't need to hear that I'm probably right about some college student having HIV because I correctly predicted the symptoms and her immunocompromised system. I need to hear that I'm wrong. I just don't want you to lie to me," he admitted in a low voice.

"I won't lie, but I can listen," Wilson offered. He caught House's gaze for a moment, and a look of understanding passed between them. House sighed resignedly and cleared his throat as he began,

"It just looked like another infection when she came in, but her health declined so quickly. I saw all of the signs, but I didn't want to find out that I was right."

Wilson nodded encouragingly, and House continued describing the patient's symptoms and sudden decline. He noticed that House's shoulders were a little less slumped over as he continued to open up, and the bags under his eyes weren't as pronounced.

As House regretfully mentioned his patient's age and former vitality, Wilson smiled to himself. He knew that House would never admit that he cared about a patient, but he was finally willing to talk about it, even if it was just this once.

End.


End file.
